The Art Of Keeping Up Disappearances // Brallon

Abaddon

‡ dallon's pov ‡

i wish i didn't let brendon in. i wish he hadn't sang to me. i wish i didn't cry into his shoulder until i fell asleep. i wish i didn't trust him. being around brendon made me so... confused. but i still hated seeing him hurt, the bruise on his cheek a few days ago making me feel pain in my chest.

when i woke up from the short nap cases by the exhaustion of crying, i was disappointed to see that bren wasn't there. i was disappointed in myself for wanting him to be there.

i grabbed my sketchbook from my nightstand, and flipped to a blank page. rummaging through the nightstand drawer, i couldn't find any pencils. sighing, i decided to just use pen instead, scrawling "buy more pencils" on my wrist to remind myself to do so.

scratching the pen over the page, the ink formed the shape of a head, shoulder. floppy hair, sculpted cheeks, and plush lips. i sighed when i saw an ink portrait of brendon staring back at me. i couldn't get the boy out of my mind. even it had just been two hours or so since he left, i needed to see him again. i needed to understand what he made me feel, so i figured asking him would clear something up, since he made me feel this way.

opening up my phone, i texted frank, who called his boyfriend, gerard, who talked to his little brother and brendon's friend, mikey, and finally i had brendon's number. i quickly called him.

he didn't answer, and i didn't try again, just saved him to my contacts. i fell asleep looking at the painting of brendon and i.

‡‡‡

the next day was saturday, and i had a text from brendon when i woke up.

brendon: who is this?

"it's dallon" i texted back. in a few minutes, after i got dressed, i was texted back.

brendon: how did you get my number?

it's complicated

brendon: vague...whats up dal?

can i talk to you? like in person

it took him a little while to respond to that.

brendon: i cant

why not?

brendon: i just can't

i sighed, even if he couldn't see me. i decided to call him instead, he picked up quickly.

"bren, please let me see you," i said immediately.

"good morning to you, too," he responded, voice quiet and dry. "but i'm sorry, i can't."

"i swear to bob ross if you don't let me see you-"

"did you just say 'i swear to bob ross'?" brendon chuckled, interrupting me. "that's amazing, i'm going to start saying that."

"brendon i'm serious," i responded firmly. "i need to see you."

"and i'm serious, dal,"

"at least tell me why?"

"i...i can't," he whispered. i became scared then, or anxious maybe, for brendon. i wanted him to be safe.

"please, bren," i whispered back. "just tell me you're safe? you are safe, right?"

"dallon..." he sighed. "i'm in the hospital." i sat there shocked for a moment.

"are you okay?"

"i don't know."

"i'm coming to see you." i hung up after i said that, not letting him protest. i quickly looked up the address and scrawled it on my wrist, under "buy more pencils" then went downstairs.

my little sister tried to ask me where i was going, but i just walked past her. after finally getting to bren's room, i saw him nervously picking at a loose thread on his bed sheet. his head was wrapped in clean gauze, and i could see the previous wraps in the garbage bin by his bed, stained with blood.

"hey bren," i walked to his bedside, sitting on the edge of it. he didn't look up at me.

"i don't want you here," bren said.

"i don't want to leave," i responded, grabbing his hand. he looked up at me then, smiling.

"that's okay,"

i glanced down at my wrist, seeing what i had written there earlier smudged. on brendon's wrist, there was smudged writing as well. i leaned in a little, reading "buy more pencils" and the address of the hospital in my handwriting. i stood quickly, releasing his hand.

"dal?" brendon asked, sitting up slowly.

"how'd that get on your wrist?" i asked him, and he glanced back down, eyes widening.

"before i was knocked out all it said was 'buy more pencils'," bren's voice was shaky, hesitant, scared. "why's there more?"

"no bren, i wrote that!" i showed him my wrist as proof. "so why's it on your wrist?"

‡‡‡

i remember when i was a little kid, i had the same dream every night of me holding hands with another kid- i could never remember their face after i woke up- and every time we had the same drawings on our arms, they were my drawings. the kid and i would sit, holding hands as i drew on myself and the same thing appeared on their arm.

so when i would always draw on myself, getting the feeling that someone else felt happy seeing my art.i remember my mom explained to me why i couldn't draw on myself.

"dally," she would say. "i know you think it looks very pretty, but it can give you ink poisoning." i would whine and complain, continuing to draw on myself.

one day, i came home from a particularly boring school day, and my entire arm was covered in black and puple pen ink. my mother asked me why i did it, despite her telling me not to.

"i feel like it makes some one very happy.i feel like somebody looks at my drawings and sees them everytime and that it makes them happy." and that was true. i was just saying what i truly felt, these feelings brought on by that dream.

as i got older, and my mother got sicker, she stopped telling me to stop drawing on myself, and i stopped having that dream. after she died, i never had the dream again. i forgot about the dream, but continued to draw on myself the feeling that it brought someone else happiness remaining when the dream did not.

A/N:

this isn't proof read fuck you (jk ily)

hope you liked it bc i love this fic and i'm abandoning all my others for a little bit to write it

-Ollie